


If I Should Fall Behind

by Lambourn



Series: a love lasting and true [2]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Song Lyrics, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28794024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lambourn/pseuds/Lambourn
Summary: A collision of Alex practicing at the Wild Pony and Michael working off his bar tab leads to a new beginning.[Or I tried to construct a story from a series of lines prompted to me on tumblr- each section in the story begins with a prompted line from my ask box]
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, brief mention of Miluca - Relationship, mention of Alex Manes/Forrest Long past
Series: a love lasting and true [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2111085
Comments: 16
Kudos: 86





	If I Should Fall Behind

The sound rolled over him, inescapable.

Michael closed his eyes underneath the bar, cursing both the faulty keg pump the brought him to the Wild Pony at 9 in the morning to repair and himself for forgetting that Maria let Alex practice with her amp and stage during the off-hours when he wanted. The first sounds of scuffling cords, amp sound checks and a guitar tuning hadn’t registered to Michael as being Alex, but then the first crisp notes of a Martin D-18 rang out, shockingly loud and raw, and Michael knew it was him. He counted to ten silently where he remained out of view. Ten became twenty, finally he switched to counting prime numbers in his head. That was his newest tool to manage both his emotions and the mendacious tenor of the voice in his mind.

God, Alex sounded fantastic on the acoustic guitar. There wasn’t a hesitation on the strings, or a moment of too-tight touch on the fretboard to be found in the ringing sounds, just a confident touch letting the guitar speak freely. It was a reminder to Michael just how well Alex was doing these days, with his dad rotting in a grave, a renewed relationship with his brother Greg and of course, the nice guy he had in his life. In his bed.

_“I’m no kind of brave soldier, ‘cause I left you behind. I’m no kind of good man, ‘cause I could never meet your eyes, and I’m no kind of skillful lover, ‘cause it’s you, just you, in my mind-”_

Michael let out a long breath, listening to Alex sing, before he grabbed a hold of that tempting impulse of hope, and crushed it with a reminder of reality. The past was a rich fodder for sad songs, and God knew he had provided Alex plenty of excellent ballad material over the years. Michael was trying to be better, to find some peace in his life now that he knew home could only be Roswell with his mother gone. It had started with being better for himself.

The stubborn fitting, caked with the grime of use and old beer, broke suddenly free in his hand and clattered noisily to the ground during an ill-timed pause between songs.

Abruptly the guitar went silent. “Maria? Is that you?”

Repeating the earlier curses but with more creativity, Michael hurriedly replaced the fitting with a fresh o-ring on the tap before he crawled out from behind the bar to face Alex. His face now visible to the stage chased away the warm expectation from Alex’s into wariness. Well. He should have expected that. Uselessly, Michael gestured down toward the bar with his wrapped hand in explanation, “Um, I was just fixing this tap for Maria. I’m sorry- didn’t mean to interrupt your rehearsal, or surprise you.”

* * *

“I hate surprises. I didn’t know you were here,” Alex replied quietly, before looking around the empty bar. “I didn’t see your truck outside either.”

“I loaned it to Rosa, she wanted to pick up some supplies for a new project, and they won’t fit in Arturo’s hatchback.” Michael rubbed his sweaty palm against his jeans and shifted awkwardly in place. He was forcefully reminded that this was the first time they had been alone together since Alex had started dating in earnest. There had been buffers before in their public interactions, Isobel, Rosa, Maria, even his sad sack of a brother Max had done his best to keep conversations light and friendly. “I have no idea what she has planned, but whatever it is called for a couple of floor to ceiling canvases from Albuquerque which would only fit in my truck bed. So yeah, she dropped me here.”

The mention of Rosa pushed away the closed wariness, and Alex finally cracked a small smile. “That was nice of you.”

“Well, I promised Liz I would look after her, while she’s …away.” Alex’s smile broadened at his explanation, causing a new awkward warmth to heat Michael’s face. He would rather had faced the guarded look from Alex than this proud, light expression. It was doing things to his heart, dangerous things, like beating on a closed door inside him. “It’s no big deal. Anyway, um, carry on with your practice. I’m … I’m just gonna finish up here, so Maria clears my bar tab from the week and get out of your hair.”

Alex looked down at his guitar, before lifting his eyes back to Michael, some of the warmth banked. “Any requests while you work then? I’m just messing around, no real set list to practice.”

“Nah, whatever you want. It all sounds great.” Michael grabbed his wrench and then dropped back down behind the bar out of sight. He exhaled again, looking at the repaired tap ruefully. If he left now, he could consider the encounter a success. No shouting, no tears, no urge to empty his flask of acetone to numb himself.

Then. The soft strands of “Bright Eyes” picked up in the quiet bar and Michael revised his last thought, unscrewing the cap from his flask to take a long drink as Alex played.

* * *

He'd never seen the photograph before.

With the tap repaired, thankfully Alex had moved on to playing something less devastating to Michael’s equilibrium, like old Townes Van Zandt in the bar. The urge to flee was quieter as he hummed along with Alex’s voice, _“All the Federales say, they could have had him any day, they only let him slip away, out of kindness I suppose,”_ and inspected the wall of photographs Maria had installed on the back wall of the bar.

The garish light up Indian Head was gone, finally mothballed in the wake of Hank Gibbons’s declared death. It was a long, sordid story which started with the original owner of the bar leaving a clause in his transfer of ownership to Maria, tying the offensive neon wall ornament to Hank’s patronage of the bar. With Hank dead, at least legally declared so, Maria had eagerly filled the space with candid snapshots of the Wild Pony patrons and open mic nights.

A particular shot of Forrest Long caught Michael’s eye. His head was tipped back, clearly laughing loudly, but next to him, draped with a way-too-friendly arm around him was a man. A not-Alex man. Michael leaned in closer, studying the surroundings of the photo with the setup of the Wild Pony, trying desperately to age the photo. Was this before he dated Alex? Was it just a very affectionate friend who was comfortable staring at Forrest like he was some sort of meal? It would take a serious set of balls to cheat on Alex in the bar of his best friend and to allow photographic evidence of it to become part of the decor. Not the move of a mild-mannered historian he had battled over the microfiche readers with in the past.

He was so involved in studying the photo, he didn’t notice when the music stopped in the background until Alex’s voice startled him, “That’s Adam.”

“Good friend, then?”

“Really good friend,” Alex answered with an emotionless voice, then seeing something in Michael’s face he relented with a small smirk, “he’s Forrest’s new boyfriend. We broke up last month.” His eyes flickered to the photo and then back to Michael, “And there’s no need to glare at the photo, it was amicable. We’re all still friends.”

“Oh, that’s good, really good,” Michael responded like the off-the-charts genius he was. “That you guys stayed friends. That’s nice, for you and him. Friends are good.” He forced his mouth shut finally, as he became aware, he had just used the word ‘good’ way too many times in a row.

Alex’s smile went crooked with amusement at Michael’s babbling. His eyebrows lifted in inquiry, “So are you done doing what you’re doing?”

Michael’s first thought went to the careful space they had been sharing as friends while Alex was with someone else. He wanted to be done with that. He really wanted to reach forward, to close the space with something out of his dreams for them, even if he couldn’t quite picture which sort of touch would be welcome. Then reality set in, as he watched Alex turn toward the bar and then back to him. It was a question about the repairs.

“Yeah, it’s all set.” He still didn’t want to leave, but he had run out of ploys. “What about you? You all ready for ‘American Idol’ now?”

“I think that’s been canceled. If I were to audition, it would be ‘America’s Got Talent’ or the Voice, but my anxiety has its hands full with the Wild Pony amateur nights.” The gentle correction rolled into a self-deprecating joke kept Michael smiling back at him. After a too long pause, Alex turned toward where the stools were still in place, and the rack of guitars next to them. “I have one more song to practice, but it requires another guitarist.”

This time there was no mistaking Alex’s expression for anything but entreaty.

“Me?” Michael glanced down at his wrapped hand. Alex followed his gaze but stayed silent as Michael flexed his fingers around the bandanna. The last time he had played a guitar, it was here at the Wild Pony. The ashes of Caulfield were still in his hair, his trust in things being okay had been fragile and stretched, and then Maria had smiled at him. Hope, renewed hope, that maybe he could be human. Maybe he could be what she wanted. Then he played her guitar, buoyed on the brief respite from reality. The calm to his chaos, not as complete as he remembered as a teenager, but still, he could hide there for a while in the feeling of normalcy.

Then his brother had died, almost before the song had finished, and nothing was considered normal for a long time afterwards.

Time was a vicious circle. Caulfield would never wash fully off him, and here he was, standing in the same place, wondering if renewed hope would kill him this time. Who would die this time if he were to pick up a guitar again, and strum a few notes into the air under the cover of a normal, low-stakes friendship with this man?

That was too morbid.

“There’s no one here. You can take off your wrap, and no one but me will see it and I already know.”

He opened his mouth to Alex, to tell him it wasn’t the bandanna that kept his hands off a musical instrument, that it still felt like an escape he hadn’t earned. Before Michael could answer, Alex pressed his advantage, “Please Michael? We haven’t played music since we were 17. It’s one of few good memories I have from high school.”

What could he do then, but agree.

* * *

“So what did you think about my song?”

Michael didn’t look up from where he was tuning the second guitar, “Which one? You played a few today.” He tightened the heads, then ran his fingers down the long neck of the guitar. The callouses from his garage work were all in the wrong spots as he pressed his fingertip pads down on the fretboard, but the sound from the Martin 19 was still loud and sweet. He had almost refused the guitar when Alex had offered it, expecting to play the older Yamaha or the electric Gibson, but Alex had insisted, picking up the Gibson to play.

“Would You Come Home.”

Ah. That song. It was a popular closing song for Alex to play now. He had gained comfort in performing and with comfort, came a more loyal following than just co-workers and his brother. Alex could now stretch his set from one or two songs, to a modest six-song set at the end of the night, and always finishing with _that_ song.

There was no escaping it, Michael had learned, after the first blind-sided experience. In total, he had heard the song in completion at least six times now, the repetition hadn’t dulled the sharp cleave to his heart hearing their past sung to Roswell proper after years of secrecy. Watching Alex step off the stage into Forrest’s arms each time had kept any ridiculous impulse he had, doused into dead embers. It also helped that by the end of the night, he was usually warm with alcohol and numb from the surrounding crowds, able to mimic the joyous noise with an armored smile.

What did he think of the song? It was both the dictionary definition of what he loved about Alex, and an annoying file-not-found entry in his brain when he thought about how often they had been allowed to be happy together.

“I liked it,” Michael replied lamely, keeping his gaze carefully down at the high polished wood in his arms as he touched the tension in the bridge. “When you’re done with the Air Force, again, you should take it on the road.”

Alex made a considering noise in his throat as he adjusted the tone control on the Gibson. “Is that what you want?”

“For you to be done with the Air Force? Hell yeah, you’re too talented to play local bars, Alex.” Michael squirmed on the stool, his arms feeling both too small and too awkward to wrap around the guitar, or perhaps it was the conversation he couldn’t hold on to. “So what’s the song you want to play that you need another guitarist?”

Taking the subject change smoothly, Alex made another small adjustment to the machine-heads before strumming the guitar with a satisfied smile. He looked up, finally meeting Michael’s gaze. There was a flicker of nervousness in his dark eyes before he answered, “Bruce Springsteen? It’s a song called ‘If I should fall behind’, starts in D. Come in, whenever you’re ready.”

_We said we'd walk together, baby, come what may_

_That come the twilight should we lose our way_

_If as we're walking a hand should slip free_

_I'll wait for you, should I fall behind wait for me_

Michael sat dumbly on the stool, his hands clumsy on the strings but the muscle memory of finding the pattern of the notes came back to him quickly even if his mind blanked over the words. Alex was singing a love song. A fucking love song, and that was what he wanted Michael’s help with? However cruel the voice in his head was toward himself, he refused to assign such malice toward Alex. It still hurt to hope, but he couldn’t stop himself.

_We swore we'd travel, darling, side by side_

_We'd help each other stay in stride_

_But each lover's steps fall so differently_

_But I'll wait for you, and if I should fall behind wait for me_

Alex opened his eyes as he sang, looking over to Michael with a shy smile as he continued, the electric guitar singing in a high register, like a violin in a lightning storm. His dark eyes, this time full of promises, stayed on Michael. From the comfort in his voice with the lyrics, it was clear the song was well-practiced, a firm part of Alex’s repertoire.

_Now everyone dreams of love lasting and true_

_Oh but you and I know what this world can do_

_So let's make our steps clear that the other may see_

_And I'll wait for you, and if I should fall behind wait for me_

A glancing drop of water splashed over the body of the Martin guitar. Michael didn’t know when the tears started. The weight in his heart navigated northward, sinking into his tear ducts, building block by block, as the air in his lungs escaped with more and more ease. Was he breathing at all? Did he even need to?

Licking his lips, Alex paused in the middle of the song and used his normal voice, “I um, changed the next bit, but I don’t think the Boss will mind at all, okay?”

_Now there’s a universe before you, to travel instead,_

_We found each other once, trailing behind while you led,_

_But should you look my way again, can you hear this plea-_

_I'll wait for you, should I fall behind wait for me_

_Darling, I'll wait for you, and should I fall behind wait for me_

Alex’s voice trailed off, long before the soft siren call of the guitar grew quiet. As if there could be quiet again, considering how loud Michael’s heart was pounding from hearing the lyrics. His hands had gamely followed the chord progression easily enough during Alex’s performance, it was after all such a simple melody, the second guitar was completely superfluous. The request was Alex’s own clever ruse to hold Michael in the chair for the totality of the song, erasing any chance of repeating a past mistake.

“So um, what about that song? Did you like it?”

Michael looked down. There were a few more tear marks on the honey gold body of the guitar, shining brightly under the house lights. Carefully he rubbed the corner of his shirt sleeve over the body to mop up the stray water droplets, and then he unfolded his arms from around the Martin D to place the guitar gently in the deep blue bed of crushed velvet. “Alex…” Michael began, he looked down at both hands, bare and whole and capable of anything, and then the words dried up in his throat.

“It’s okay.” Alex got up from his stool, stiff and brittle. “I get it.” He coughed out a bitter laugh, “different song, same result. Well, I had to try at least once more-”

Michael waited patiently until he had stored the electric guitar before he stepped into Alex’s space, startling him into stillness. “You don’t get it at all,” he declared before seizing both sides of Alex’s face between his palms to kiss him in silence.

* * *

The morning dawned cold but bright, the light crept over the horizon and Michael closed his eyes to the rising sun. Alex was breathing easily in his arms, most of him draped over Michael’s body in a clinging wrap of dark hair and toned muscle. Kissing Alex, silencing those doubts and chasing away any perceived rejection was just the first action. The easiest action. The physical came easy to them both, but it never solved their issues long-term.

It made the second action more pressing; talking.

The Wild Pony had so much history. There were weighted memories but joyous ones as well, and complicated emotions involving them both with recent ex-partners. It wasn’t the proper neutral ground for them. He had texted Rosa to leave the truck at the Crashdown, and helped Alex pack up the rest of his equipment from the bar before they both left together in the Explorer. After a stop at a 7-11 for water and supplies, their journey continued.

It had said something about how well they knew each other that Alex had turned toward the direction out of town and headed for an old dirt road paralleling the property line of the Foster’s ranch without Michael’s suggestion to guide him. There under the shade of the trunk hatch, they had laid out blankets among the only real witnesses to their old love affair, the tall cactus and the swaying stalks of feather-grass.

It was only fair after the love song Alex had played, a brave gamble in the dark, that Michael spoke first.

_“I have only played guitar once since my hand got healed.”_

_“What? Why?”_

_“Because five minutes after I finished playing, I felt Max die. I just figured that was the universe talking to me.”_

Alex had looked worried at that comment, but had still asked with a soft voice, “ _What did you think the universe was telling you?”_

 _“I’m not allowed peace, or to be happy. I dunno, whatever I do it’s always temporary. It either gets snatched away or I do something stupid and lose it.”_ Michael had licked his lips, looking down at his bare hands again before digging the bandanna out from his pocket to wrap around his left hand again. _“I don’t like looking at my hand, not because I’m stuck in the past, but because it feels like it’s cheating. I got hurt trying to protect you, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, it was worth it to me, and having that erased, the consequences of it- I don't know it really fucks my head up. Nothing feels real to me since. Nothing is permanent. Even now, playing the guitar again, and then finding out you still want me, like Alex- that kind of happiness scares me to death. I feel like at any moment a truck will hit me or lightning will strike.”_

Alex had nodded after a moment, looking out over the bright sunshine as the sun started its slow return to the horizon. _“If the truck comes or the lightning strikes, can’t it hit us together then? We’ve tried it every other way, Michael, except the way where we both chose each other. Can we just do that? Be together, maybe even mock the universe a bit by being happy?”_

Michael hadn’t had an argument for that, not that he wanted to make one in the first place. The rest of the afternoon slipped away between them under that new tentative agreement. With topics exhausted between them, the guitars came out from their cases again. The first test for Michael, shaking off the momentary envy over the fact Alex could own four or five expensive instruments as an adult, and he did. As they played together under the desert sky for the first time since high school, Michael had drifted between treasured memories and feeling like this was just another impossible dream.

Except this time, he had found solid ground again in the imperfections between them both as adults. Alex had needed to find an easier seat on the ground with his prosthesis, and his own wrapped hand had interfered with his chord progression. The mistakes he had made in the songs gave the music a bit more weight, and gave the moment a solid anchor. It had made it feel real.

Now as the sun started to slip between his uneven blinds of the Airstream, there was another brief touch of unreality as Michael nosed the warm skin of Alex’s throat. He was here, with Alex, and they were going to try again. Or for the first time depending on how it was counted.

“Mmm, you’re awake.”

Michael whispered into his ear before biting Alex’s ear lobe gently, “I am, and you feel so good right now.”

“Does it feel real yet?”

“It’s starting to. Ask me again in, say, twenty years?”

“Deal.” With that, Alex rolled on top of Michael and kissed him to seal it.

**Author's Note:**

> Girls Inc Santa Fe is an amazing organization. Help Jeanine Mason celebrate her 30th with a donation. 
> 
> https://girlsincofsantafe.org/
> 
> I'm at lambourngb @ tumblr ...


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